


See Me

by Corker



Series: Love Me [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/F, Masturbation, Tentacles, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corker/pseuds/Corker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previously "Slumber Party" on the kink meme.  Left alone with Merrill's pet tentacle creature during a slumber party at Hawke's mansion, Aveline explores some of the secret desires she barely understands herself.  After  Hawke and (female) company make a mistaken rush to the rescue, Isabela remains behind to play, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See Me

An evening relaxing with boon companions in the stately environs of the Amell estate. What could be nicer?

Chairs. Chairs would be nicer, Aveline thought.

Hawke had apparently let Merrill take charge of planning this girls’ night in, and any and all useful furnishings in the main foyer had been replaced by large pillows and bolsters. Enough cosmetics to supply the staff of the Blooming Rose cluttered one low table, and Isabela was saying something about lingerie, and... well, thank the Maker there was at least good wine out.

Isabela wandered upstairs, presumably in search of something inappropriate to either flaunt herself in or tease Aveline with. Merrill emerged from the kitchen with a tray of small cakes and scarcely had time to glance around, looking for the missing pirate, when Isabela shouted bloody murder above them.

Hawke flew out of the kitchen behind Merrill, and together the three charged up the stairs. Isabela, backing slowly out of Hawke’s bedroom, put up a hand. “It’s not following,” she said. “Merrill, I think you can kill it from the door.”

“Kill what? What is it? Oh - that.” Isabela pivoted clear, revealing the scene beyond her. Next to Hawke’s massive bed was a nest of serpents, some of them as thick as Aveline’s wrist. Wait, no... the coiling, undulating mass was _not_ a tangle of snakes, but rather coppery-brown appendages of some kind, all rooted to a great fleshy blob on the floor. “Don’t worry, Isabela. It’s all right.”

Isabela did not look convinced. Aveline sure sodding wasn’t. “On what do you base that assertion?” she asked the elf.

“Oh, I summoned it.”

“Merrill!”

“It was one of _Anders’_ spells!” Merrill insisted. Aveline assumed that she thought making it clear this wasn’t blood magic would somehow make the tentacled monster in the room less worrisome. It didn’t. “It’s animated by thought, not by a spirit. Like the one that lets you walk a skeleton around? The telekinetic version, I mean, not the way the maleficar...” She cleared her throat. “It’s safe, Aveline.”

“It’ll be safe when it’s dead.” 

“Don’t be cruel!” Merrill gasped, eyes wide with shock. “It’s only here because I conjured it. It wouldn’t be very nice to kill it. Besides,” she added thoughtfully, “if you try to kill it, _then_ it might react badly to the pain. Anyway, it’ll be gone before morning all on its own.”

“And what’s it _for_ , Kitten?” Isabela asked, leering more than slightly. 

Hawke coughed into her fist. Aveline did a double-take at the implication, staring at the thing again, taking note of the various shapes of its limbs. Isabela hummed in anticipation.

“Foot rubs!” Merrill said brightly.

This surprised even Hawke. “Foot rubs?” she echoed.

Merrill flushed pink. “andmaybesomeotherthingstoo but it’s also really very good with feet! Look here.” And she bounced into the room, heedless of the creature. 

“It really _is_ all right,” Hawke reassured Aveline. “Trust me. And trust me, you don’t want to know how I know.”

“ _I_ do,” Isabela pouted.

“I know _you_ do,” Hawke grinned back. “Later.”

Well, thank the Maker for Hawke. At least _someone_ had the basic decency to spare her the prurient details of how... all that coiling, slithering muscle, wrapped around the bedpost... or an ankle...

Aveline unconsciously clicked her heels together, looking away from the tentacle she’d been watching. Right. Hawke was a decent sort. Very good.

Speaking of ankles, Merrill was perched on the edge of the bed now, dangling her feet into the mass of tendrils as if she were fishing and using herself as bait. Vaguely warm and uncomfortable thoughts vanished as the guard captain went on the alert, stepping into the room so that if (if? who was she kidding - _when_ ) the monster snatched up Merrill and tried to kill her, she’d be ready to stop it. And then say, “I told you so.”

But the ‘snakes,’ as she found it more sanity-saving to think of them, only wrapped as high as her calves, and didn’t pull her screaming into the depths of their serpentine undulations. Thin tendrils emerged from somewhere to thread between her toes, and the thicker, more muscular ones circled and squeezed, sliding from heel to arch to ball of the foot. Merrill let out a shuddering sigh and fell back blissfully onto the bed. “I still get so footsore waa _ah_ lking over all this stone, and this is just _oh!_ the best,” she said. Then a soft stream of quietly ecstatic moans followed, and Aveline found herself beating a hasty retreat to examine one of Hawke’s lacquered cabinets. Was it Orlesian, maybe?

“I didn’t know your feet were so... sensitive, sweetheart,” Hawke said slowly, approaching the bed.

“Yours aren’t?” Merrill asked, before crying out in a way that Aveline could only interpret as “orgasmically.”

“Can we not do this all together, please?” she asked crossly, turning around.

“Do what?” Merrill panted from the bed, withdrawing her feet from the snakes. “Oh! I didn’t think... the shoes all the time... are foot rubs... _indecent?_ ” She sat up, looking penitent. “I’m so sorry, Aveline, I never thought... I mean, usually I can tell the dirty things because all our clothes are off... or some of our clothes... or...”

“There’s nothing wrong with foot rubs,” Isabela swooped in to reassure her. 

“B-but,” Aveline sputtered, “she - ! She just - !”

“ _Really_ likes her feet touched, don’t you?” Hawke asked, the picture of innocent sincerity. You could almost feel your hair being ruffled good-naturedly. Merrill nodded agreement. “I’m so sorry I never knew! I think that we should make up for it.”

Merrill clapped her hands. “Pedicures!”

“Sure, we can call it that,” Isabela grinned, and the three of them sashayed down the stairs.

Aveline leaned awkwardly against the doorframe. “Well,” she said conversationally, to the mass of tentacles behind her, “I suppose I can go and watch them all pretend they don’t know they’re having elf foot sex, or I can... hide Hawke’s unmentionables from Isabela,” she remembered. Yes, that was why she was the guard captain - she remembered the details.

She went back to the lacquered cabinet and rifled through it, wondering exactly where she might _put_ anything she found so that it would be safe from Isabela’s tricky fingers. “Don’t suppose you have any ideas on that score?” she asked. Clutching something tiny and silky on one calloused hand, she turned around to regard the thing. “And are you _really_ safe?”

To her surprise, it reacted, all the waving, sliding appendages wilting toward the ground like a penitent mabari’s ears.

“Come off it, I more or less agreed not to cut you up,” Aveline said. “Wait... you can’t possibly _understand_ speech, can you? You haven’t even got any ears. Merrill said you responded to thoughts...”

The nightie fluttered to the ground as Aveline crossed over to the great lump. The body... foot... pod... _thing_ had to be five feet across and three high, domed like some strange sea creature. She thought very hard about it being very still, and it was.

Well, that could be a coincidence. _I want to see what you’ve got,_ she thought at it, lifting her right arm from her side. _Put her there._

After a brief second of hesitation, a thick coppery tentacle, tapered to a slender point, wavered up and slid into her waiting grip. The tip wrapped just halfway around the back of her hand, as if it were a human hand getting ready to arm-wrestle - which was just what she’d been thinking of.

She’d expected it to be slimy, but it wasn’t. Slick and smooth, yes, but dry. More than anything, it reminded her of a set of dragonskin armor she’d admired in Denerim once. She supposed there must be scales, but they were tiny, beyond feeling individually. It was... well, it was _nice_ , the same way the silk nightie had been nice to touch, or the way a leather jerkin felt when you put it on without a shirt (even though she didn’t know why she did that sometimes, certainly she couldn’t wear it _outside_ like that since everyone would _stare_ because she’d be naked under it and -)

The tentacle was slowly writhing in her hand, back and forth - because she liked the texture, she realized. “Hey now,” she said. “Let’s go.” The thing resumed its initial position, and suddenly the contest was _on_.

Almost instantly, Aveline realized this was a losing bet. That giant mound of flesh wasn’t moving anywhere, giving the thing an immobile base to leverage against. And the entire length of it was muscle, coiling in on itself like a snake about to strike - and then pushing out, and her with it.

She kept her grip on the end through sheer stubbornness, even though the match was legitimately lost in the thing’s favor. She skidded backwards along Hawke’s rug with her feet planted -

And then it recoiled abruptly, dragging her off-balance, pulling her forward right onto the slithering mound of tentacles. She felt them grip her upper arms, calves, left thigh - !

Aveline went rigid with adrenaline and alarm - and everything stopped again. The thing drooped, listless, and she rolled off it, panting.

And aroused.

 _Maker_ , it was sick (well, how sick _really_ , if Anders and Merrill and even good old _Hawke_ apparently used it for the same thing?) but the warmth between her legs that she’d been trying to ignore since she saw it fondle Merrill was a blaze.

There were things Aveline wanted that she didn’t understand, things that came in dark flashes when she was alone inspecting the prison cells, or putting on that stupid jerkin, or buckling her gorget around her neck just one notch too tightly. This thing, she thought, it seemed to hear those thoughts more clearly than she did herself. Maybe that’s why they summoned it - it knew what you wanted, even when you didn’t.

Of course, she could never.

Just not possible.

What if someone heard? What if they came up here, all three of them, and saw her entangled with that thing while it did _things_ to her? Splayed and displayed and Isabela would laugh mockingly and _no, no, that’s a bad thing not a good thing, why am I -_

Slowly, tentatively, a narrow but long appendage snaked its way to the door, and gently swung it shut. The sounds of soapy splashing, giggles and moans below faded and were gone.

“Does that mean I’ve made up my mind, then?” Aveline asked.

A dozen whiplike tendrils lashed out, stinging, wrapping around wrists and ankles, to drag her forward for her answer.

 

She struggled. Of course she did. She wasn’t _that sort_ of woman, to just _give in_. She had to, needed to fight it, to strain and test her own considerable strength against the thing holding her.

It was different from the arm wrestling. She tried to pull away legs, curl arms in, and the slick-smooth snakes found their grip tested. Coils unwound, slipped - she almost had her good right arm free -

\- then _more_ , the thicker, stronger ones, grabbing above and below knee and elbow. Each limb, each part of each limb was pinioned, pitting the terrible power of each muscled tentacle against a small fraction of her body’s might. She strained on anyway (because that was, somehow, the _point_ , to know beyond doubt that she was captured) until, sweat dampening her linen shirt, she went limp and panting.

She flinched and shuddered when they crawled underneath the hem of shirt. Slowly, like a predator or a caress, the long and boneless fingers wound their way up her belly and down under the drawstring of her trousers. The coils above her clothes shifted and rearranged themselves, giving way entirely as the living bonds established themselves against her skin this time.

The thickest ones couldn’t fit under her garments with her, and when the flattish, paddle-ended appendages curled themselves around tufts of fabric to peel her clothes off, she tried again to win free. There were two corded cables around her midriff and chest, and she had no idea how to get loose from them, but she had to try. She won some small motion before the thing recovered, snapping her limbs out tight and straight from her now-nude body, supported by the thing beneath her. 

Aveline’s eyes widened and her breath caught. She felt the tension increase, tugging at her arms and legs... but not too much. A stretch (so you don’t _forget_ ) but not a painful one. Pressure along her legs, pulling out... Jaw clenched, she fought that, too, willing her thighs back together - but the thing kept on, slowly, almost gently, stopping only when she felt her lower lips part, the air cool against her hot, slick skin. Something unseen slid up the crease of her inner thigh and she nearly sobbed, nearly moaned. _It was going to -_

\- just keep sliding, joined by more of its fellows, along her belly, her sides, over her breasts. Tendrils with delicate narrow ends dragged along lightly; those paddle-shaped ones, she thought dimly as they rubbed the soft flesh of her breasts, were _really_ like eight-foot long prehensile tongues. Dry, smooth tongues, passing flat over her nipples, then returning to curl and flick at them. Aveline closed her eyes and let her head fall back, face red with shame because it still felt _nice_ like silk and _good_ in ways she hadn’t even remembered for a long time, but _it was still a writhing mass of tentacles in Hawke’s bedroom_ and this just wasn’t something Guard Captain Aveline Vallen was supposed to _do_.

(And why not? asked a small voice that sounded suspiciously like Isabela.)

The feeling of something thick and wet splattering all over her chest interrupted that chain of thought. Aveline brought her head up abruptly - and quickly regretted it, getting splashed with a faceful of something spurting from one of the tentacles. A phallic-shaped one, naturally. “What -” she started to ask, the first thing she’d said since the door had closed.

The paddle-tongues gave her the answer, swirling the stuff around her torso and it was _better_ than good.  ”Maker! she choked out, voice tight, because now they really _did_ feel like tongues, many of them. Two moved in toward her face; she could only watch as they approached, moving sideways to dip into the substance on her cheek and neck before licking and flicking at her ears, her jaw, her throat.

There was more, more of the strange spice-and-dust-scented release (almost like the bannorn under a hot summer sun but even more dry, something like exotic Antivan sands must smell), more tentacles rubbing, painting her with it, along her thighs, her shoulders, her ass, even her feet. (Did it remember Merrill?) It was disgusting, it was sublime, _she_ was disgusting for thinking it was sublime but Maker save her, that just made it hotter.

Her limbs began to tremble and ache, and she found them carefully repositioned with more bend in the joints, less tension, but still that unbreakable serpentine grip. Her legs, in fact, were bent almost double, heels to her ass and knees apart and it had to, _had to_ be getting ready to -

The sound of her own labored breathing and the blood pounding in her ears must have been too loud; it seemed that there was silence and then the door was opening. “Aveline, the pedicures are done,” Hawke reported cheerfully. “It’s safe to come out -”

The door continued to open, swinging out of Hawke’s suddenly still hand.

Merrill was behind her, but not for long. “Get me an angle!” the elf shrieked, shoving her way past her lover and darting to the side, hands raised. “I’ll freeze it, I’ll...”

“Don’t hit Aveline!” Hawke shouted.

“Stop!” Aveline bellowed.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Isabela, springing up the stairs more quickly than her drawl would have indicated, asked into the moment of awkward silence.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Merrill apologize, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I thought it was safe, I really did, if I had any idea at all, I swear I would have -”

“Merrill,” Aveline interrupted her, surprised at how calm and normal she sounded. She _felt_ like her face was on fire. “Everything is fine. Go get another pedicure.”

“I think I just came a little,” Isabela murmured, in a tone that almost approached reverence.

“You’re... good?” Hawke asked.

“I’m good,” Aveline confirmed.

“We’re going.” Hawke took Merrill by the shoulders and steered her out, pausing only to call back, “Have fun - you deserve it, you know.”

“Sorry to wreck the mood,” Isabela added, licking her lips and - Aveline realized with a start - trying _not_ to stare. “Didn’t know you had it in you, big girl. Or on you. Or -” She shot another brief, heated glance Aveline’s way. “Right. I’ll be going.”

Surely it was some other person who used Aveline’s mouth to say, “Sure, just put everything topsy-turvy and walk out. That’s your style.”

Isabela half-turned, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I can stay if you want,” she purred, kicking the door closed without even looking at it. She sauntered a little closer, biting a fingertip. “Mm-hm. I could _definitely_ stay.”

“I didn’t say I _wanted_ you to.”

Isabela stopped and quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, is _that_ how it is?” She surveyed the scene at leisure, taking in the thorough restraints, the corded muscles, and Aveline’s glare. “Mm. Suits you. But I need some yes or no answers, honest ones, or else I’m leaving” she said, careful to shift her gaze to inspecting the thing itself. “Can I stay?”

“I can’t make you leave.”

“Yes or no, Aveline. Can I stay?”

“...yes,” the guard captain answered, a little sullenly.

“Can I watch?”

“Yes,” easier this time.

Isabela mentally cast some dice and paid most careful attention to the toe of her boot. “Can I tell you how sodding _hot_ you are, looking like a dockside jane after an entire ship’s crew’s been at her?”

There was the most puzzling combination of a whine, a snort and a gasp, then silence, and then very, very quietly, “Yes.”

“Can I touch?” Isabela asked next, just as quietly, hoping she was on a winning streak.

A longer silence, and then firmly: “No.”

Blast. Too much to hope for, evidently. “Please say I can at least touch _myself_ or I think I’m going to die.”

“That’s your business.” Gruff again and embarrassed. “So yes. Hate to have to explain a dead pirate whore to Hawke. And it’d ruin Merrill’s party.”

“Poor Merrill,” Isabela had to chuckle. “I think she had ghost stories planned. Last thing,” she said, finally looking up. She caught Aveline looked back, watching her, and the guard captain immediately turned her eyes back up to the ceiling. “You are so _cute_ when you’re shy,” Isabela smiled, and went to crawl up onto Hawke’s bed, all the better to look over and down at the show. “I expect you’ll be telling me to shut up and go away, whore - as you do - so can you have something to say when you _really_ mean it? Fun is fun, but I don’t want your fist in my face tomorrow.”

And Aveline laughed, a real, honest sound. “‘Danger ahead,’” she replied after a moment. It was one of the pat phrases she used in the field to alert her guards, or Hawke’s team, that trouble was coming. The phrase, spoken in Aveline’s voice, instantly put Isabela on alert, even here - too many years of charging into battle together for it to be otherwise.

“Brilliant,” Isabela agreed. “Now, where were we?”

“You were standing there like a useless lump! Do something!”

“About what? Oh, that?” Isabela waved at the thing. “Perish the thought.”

“Isabela!” Aveline was doing a really spot-on imitation of outrage, green eyes flashing with anger and edged with just the tiniest glimmer of fear. “It’s going to -”

“Give you a really thorough dicking, I bet,” Isabela nodded. “And do you ever need one.”

“How can you just - _ah!_ ” Proper atmosphere had apparently been re-established, for the thing slithered back to life. The agile tongues resumed their work, and Aveline’s jaw snapped closed against any more incriminating sounds.

“Ooo, it’s a tease, isn’t it?” Isabela asked, noting a distinct _absence_ of a feeler exactly where she’d put one, herself. “Make sure you lick her ass good,” she suggested.

“You _don’t_ need to - _Maker!_ ”

“But I’m such a font of dirty ideas! Although you really seem to have that pretty well managed,” she had to admit. “You could be louder, though.”

The only answer was a growl that quickly slid up the scale to a whine. The tentacles shifted _en masse_ , repositioning the warrior so that the pirate on the bed got a clear view of the spread thighs, hot and open hole, and the tendril squirming enthusiastically up between those iron buttocks. _”Uh,”_ Isabela groaned herself, and took advantage of the permission she’d been given to slip a hand between her own legs. 

“Oh, here it comes,” she breathed, as a pleasantly thick and solid-looking appendage, tip drooling... well, whatever passed for precum, she guessed... began tracing a slow line from Aveline’s heel, over her bound ankle, and up to her knee. 

Tense muscles trembled as it slid onward, back down along Aveline’s inner thigh, dragging across the soaked red curls and pausing...

 _”Please...”_ Aveline mewled, in a thin high voice laced with surrender and need. Please do, please don’t, both, neither? Isabela sputtered, eyes wide as saucers, coming suddenly and unexpectedly at the sound. Aveline. Aveline _begging_.

Isabela was not usually one to plan ahead, but there simply _had_ to be a future in which Aveline was begging _her_.

Witty observations would have to wait for a few moments, til after the lust-fog lifted. Isabela contented herself with more nonverbal expressions of approval as the tentacle slid forward, inward, and Aveline made another strangled, helpless sound that stirred Isabela’s hand to life again.

“Mm, take it,” she panted. “Take it good and deep, you tramp. Is it enough? I don’t think it’s enough for such a big girl.”

“Shut up,” Aveline, eyes closed tightly, bit out, as Isabela had predicted she would.

“Why, so you can pretend you’re virtuously not _loving_ this? That’s why I’m here, isn’t it,” she mused, “because you’re a very twisty girl, I think. Wanting to not want to want?” She paused to count on her free hand’s fingers. “Did I get that right?”

“...daft...”

“ _Bad_ ,” Isabela replied, watching with keen interest as the invading tentacle began to pump in and out. “And you’re worse. Look at you, covered in spunk with a six-foot dick in you. _Uhn_ , I just want to lick that off of you.”

Her eyes flew open. “What?!”

“Dirty, hot, tied down...” Isabela’s own eyes were at half-mast. “The things I’d do to you...” Aveline stared like a mouse before a serpent; Isabela didn’t expect a reply, but the sudden interest was reply enough. This was a chance to plant the seeds of _Aveline begging her_ later. “Oh yes,” she purred, lifting herself slightly up to show off her breasts a bit, “The Queen of the Eastern Seas knows what to do with a difficult captive. I’d collar you, you great Ferelden bitch, make you tremble for my hand - a caress or a slap, I’d give you both if you want to drive the ship of your pride onto rocks of pleasure or of pain, again and _again_ until you’re nothing but a wreck on the shore.”

Aveline stared for just a heartbeat as Isabela’s words ran like lightning straight from her ears to her groin, where everything coalesced into a burning crystal heat and then exploded out. She couldn’t arch, couldn’t move from where she was held, and the thing kept pumping and licking as she came, harder than she ever had since ( _since ever_ , if she were honest) and someone was shouting the Maker’s name and was it her?

Feeling rubbery, lax, she felt herself lifted and tumbled gently onto something soft. She blinked blearily, seeing a canopy and four posts. Hawke’s bed. Then Isabela, leaning over her with a soft smile.

“So amazing,” she said. “Thanks for, you know. Letting me stay. You want some help cleaning up, or still no touchy?”

Aveline looked down at herself, covered in sweat and... stuff... and red marks where she’d been gripped. Holy Maker, had that really happened? She glanced over the side of the bed where the tentacle thing seemed to wave at her, friendly-like. 

She relaxed back down to the pillow, blinked twice very carefully, and took a few deep breaths. Isabela waited patiently until the warrior finally met her eyes again. “Did you mean what you said? That last bit?”

Isabela laughed, and for one paralyzing moment, Aveline braced for incoming mockery. _Of course she didn’t mean it, it was just things to say in the heat of the -_ “Every word, big girl,” the pirate interrupted her thoughts, leaning down closer with a positively evil smile that promised _things_.

Aveline swallowed, looked away, and looked back, eyes hard with resolve. In the firm voice of command, she said:

“Break me.”


End file.
